


Choosy Commanders Choose ADVENT

by psychomachia



Category: XCOM (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Blood and Violence, Body Horror, Dysfunctional Relationships, Fucking Machines, Mind Manipulation, Multi, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Obsession, Other, Possessiveness, Rape/Non-con Elements, Xeno, apotheosis, casual/dismissive cruelty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-11-01 02:21:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20806973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychomachia/pseuds/psychomachia
Summary: The CHOSEN decide to cooperate. The Commander benefits from their sibling love.





	Choosy Commanders Choose ADVENT

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kanadka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kanadka/gifts).

The ship goes down in the forest this time. At least, they're used to it, so it coasts to a stop. Strangely, there's no pursuing ship behind them, no chatter on the comms.

“Commander,” Shen says. “We're picking up energy readings jamming our engines.”

“Same as last time.” Bradford paces on the bridge. “It's only been a few months. How'd they lock onto us so quickly?”

“Beats me.” Shen checks the monitors. “I'm not picking up any traffic either. Whatever took us down, it doesn't seem like the main force is behind it.”

“I don't like it” Bradford says. “What are they up to?” He looks at the Commander. “It's your call, sir, how we handle it.”

“Well, we're not going anywhere anytime soon.” Shen's tapping away at the keyboard.

The Commander massages his temples, thinks. It's been busy lately – a captured scientist in Montreal, an ADVENT retaliation in Phoenix, a downed UFO in Guadalajara. Half of their soldiers are either in the infirmary or exhausted, another quarter too inexperienced to send out on something like this.

But Shen's right. This isn't something they can wait on. Whatever took them down wants something and they can't stick around to fight out what that is.

“Right,” he says. “Butcher, Nova, and Tombstone should be solid still. Firewall's mostly recovered.  
Wraith and Warlock are a little green, but they've settled into a good routine.”

Bradford sighs. “I wish we had more than a couple of Colonels. I'll send back-up if we need it.”

“Like we have any,” the Commander smiles wearily and Bradford laughs in return.

“Keep looking heroic, and we'll get more before you know it.”

No, he thinks. I'd rather not get more sacrifices for me.

* * *

But that's not how this works, ever.

The woods are quiet. No soldiers in sight, and Wraith scouts ahead, sees nothing.

“Not good,” the Commander mutters. “Where are they?”

Bradford puts a hand on his shoulder. “I've got Shen monitoring, but she's not picking up anything unusual yet.”

“Device in view,” Tombstone says. “Looks different than the last time.”

“Doesn't matter.” Bradford's voice crackles over the radio. “Take it out, however you can.”

“Roger--”

And there's a shot.

“Tombstone?”

No answer.

“Butcher, talk to me.” The Commander looks up at Bradford, who's pacing and trying not to yell into the comm. “Butcher--”

“Central, I just picked a reading. It's one of the Chosen.” Shen's voice is frantic as she cuts in.

“Fuck,” The Commander says. “Which one?”

“Looks like the Hunter.”

“Would explain the shots,” Bradford says. “It's an ambush. We need to destroy the device and get the hell out of here. Wraith, Warlock, what's your status?”

“Wraith's got Butcher. We lost Tombstone. I'm on my--”

More shots. A gurgle that dies out.

“I'm sending in back-up,” Bradford switches channels, starts yelling. “Bullseye, Warden, be ready to go in sixty seconds. Tygan, get them up and moving!”

“I'm not sure they can--”

The lights flicker in the Avenger.

There's a hum, a high-pitched noise that makes the Commander's teeth whine. It's cut off as the comms go dead in a burst of static and squeals.

Then everything goes dark.

The emergency lights kick in. They're bathed in red light on the bridge. It's just the two of them on the Bridge, the rest of the crew dispatched to engineering or medical to help out.

“Stay with me, Commander,” Bradford says. “If a Chosen is involved, it's a sure bet they're after one thing and one thing alone. And I'm not letting any of them get you.” His gun is out, gripped tightly in one hand, while the other arm reaches towards the Commander.

“Bradford,” he says.

There's a slight crackle behind them, a tinny little bit of noise that catches their attention, but it's the voice that really grabs them.

“You'd think they would have been harder to take out,” The Hunter says. “They're supposed to be some of your best and yet they were so easy once I stopped trying to actually take them alive. I should do that more often.”

The Commander hisses through his teeth. “You--”

“Oh, Commander.” He's laughing. “It's such a pleasure to hear your voice. You know, there's recordings of you, screaming and crying, but it's just not the same as hearing it in person.”

Bradford's grip tightens around the Commander's arm. “Why don't you come down here, then? Quit hiding behind your rifle and I'll take you on.”

“Well, I'd love to, but sadly, I already promised my sister she could take you out. And as much as I'd love to break that promise, we do sort of have an agreement.”

“Not that I trust you not to break it,” There's a flash, and Bradford's down on the ground, pinned as a sword goes through his shoulder straight to the floor.

“Would I do that, dear sister? Especially when it's worked out so well.”

“Commander,” Bradford manages to choke out. “Run...”

“Please don't,” The Assassin says, coming fully into view. She's covered in red, and it's probably not just the lights. “There's no honor in disposing of the fallen, nor in fleeing from the inevitable. Surrender, Commander. Don't let any more of your people's deaths be on your head. ”

The Commander backs up a step, stumbles against one of the consoles. He looks at her. There's a faint smile on her face, and at her feet, Bradford's trying to get up.

“She's right, you know,” The Hunter chimes in. “It would be such a shame if you lost more loved ones. I mean, it would be a treat for me, but I imagine losing your friend here would just be a tragedy for you.”

The Commander knows what Bradford would say. Get away, however you can. Live to fight another day. Don't give up. Don't give in.

He also knows that John will die today if he doesn't.

There's no choice.

“You found me once,” he says. Bradford's struggling on the floor, trying to reach to him.

The Commander takes the Assassin's hand.

“Find me again.”

The purple light flares, then fades, and there's nothing but a bleeding, crying man on the floor.

* * *

“You know,” The Hunter says. “The Elders really have no imagination. Here they have one of the greatest minds in front of them, just ripe for the taking, and what do they do? Stick him in a tube and make him into a computer.”

He tries to follow him as the Hunter paces, but he loses track of him. It could be the drugs, the needles they stuck into him that made him dizzy and sick and too weak to do anything as he was strapped to a frame, each limb extended so that his body was tight and taut.

His clothes cut away easily, his body left naked and exposed as the Chosen watched him - eagerly, he knew and feared.

“At least they kept you fresh,” he added. “Human bodies are just so frail and weak, but yours.” His grin is sharp, far too many teeth like knives. He runs his nail down the Commander's chest, lets it feel along hard muscle and soft skin.

He follows the nail with his mouth, lets the tongue flick along the skin, taste the sweat of fear and exhaustion. Teeth after that, closing around a nipple. They bite, drawing blood and sucking that up too.

“You really are a delicious thing.” He licks the blood from his lip.

The Commander tries to say something, to tell him to stop, but his lips are cracked, bleeding as they're stretched too thin around metal that keeps his mouth open wide, unable to do more than make mewling cries of pain.

“Don't mark him too badly,” The Assassin says. “We do have to take him in at some point.”

She was the one who first drugged him, leaned down, her breath cool and rancid as she held him firmly, watched him fight as they took hold. She kissed him then, let her tongue map the inside of his mouth and sealed it with her own until he couldn't breathe.

“And how will that go?” The Hunter says. “Who gets the credit for the capture?”

“Well, I was the one that took him off the ship.” She's letting her own fingers explore the Commander's body. Her hand wanders down to his cock, grasps it in her hand. “He's technically mine.”

“But you wouldn't have gotten him without me.” His teeth move to the Commander's throat, take a savage bite from his neck. “You never would have gotten that far if I hadn't been the one to take everyone else down.”

“We could duel for it..” The Assassin moves her hand to her sword. “Or do you not have any confidence in your skills?”

The Hunter eyes his gun, sitting on a cabinet. “How boring,” he says. “You're never any fun.” Then his smile widens. The Commander's slumping in his restraints, woozy from the drugs and loss of blood. “I have a better idea.”

* * *

"There's cool metal inside him, long and sharp. It vibrates slowly every time he shifts, and he's trying not to move, but it's--

“My katana,” she says. “I would not use it for such a purpose,but you deserve it, Commander.” She's riding him, his cock slipping inside her and it's cold there, strange and icy. Whatever they gave him keeps him hard, though, keeps him hot and panting.

“No,” he whispers.”No.”

“Oh, yes.” She slips her tongue in his ear, licks the shell of it. “But you can make this stop. All you have to do is tell me who your master is.”

He tries to shake his head, dislodge her, but her hands come up around his neck, squeeze to keep him steady. Her muscles do the same below.

The sword's beginning to get hot and it's moving inside him now, If he were to look--'

How much blood has he lost?”

“XCOM,” he says. “I belong to them.”

“How disappointing.” She flicks her hand upwards, and he can feel her clench around him.

He finds no relief.

* * *

“I'll give it to her, she made you nice and slick for me,” The Hunter says. His own cock is buried deep in the Commander, his teeth still marking every place he can find in reach of his mouth.

“But my sister lacks any creativity. She's all cold and planning, and really, if this world was hers, it would be so dull. No imagination.”

The Commander can't speak. There's something moving his mouth, a loose wet thing that pulsates and fills his throat. He tries to breathe around it.

Can't.

“If this was my world, oh, we'd have so much fun. You'd wear a collar and we'd hunt down the traitors of this world, rip their throats out and show them how it should be. The strong over the weak.”

The Hunter laughs against his neck. “Maybe I'd hunt you, too, give you a day's head start, let you run as far as you can. Then I'd track you down, make you pay for it, until you screamed at me to stop.”

He's thrusting into the Commander, and he can't scream, can't do anything but take it.

“But I wouldn't. I'd never stop. Because you won't break on me, will you?”

There's a rush of heat into him, a hot liquid that scalds against the cuts inside him. There's an answering rush of liquid down his throat as well, bitter and far too much and he's forced to swallow it all.

And then he's able to breathe, the tube shrinking as it shrivels into nothing but a sticky mess in his mouth. The Commander tries to gag, spit it all out, but it clings inside him.

“So what do you say, Commander? Who's your master.”

“XCOM,” he whispers. “Not you.”

“Well, it wouldn't be fun if it were easy.”

* * *

The worst part is that sometimes it stops.

He will be cold, so cold, and he thinks, no, this has to be it. He's been hurt everywhere he possibly could, had them pinch and pull at him until he thinks there can't be any part of him that isn't marked by them. They've invaded him completely.

And he thinks, I'll go away now. They'll lose because I won't break. I won't tell them what they want to hear. I'd rather--

But he won't.

Because his body's taken, limp and unresistant, and forced into a tube of liquid green and he can't breathe but he doesn't have to. It does everything for him. All he has to do is take it.

How many times?

There has to be an end. The Elders will be missing their children. ADVENT will be missing their weapons.

Bradford will have to find him.

There isn't an end.

He's pulled out, put back in the restraints and it starts all over again.

The Hunter laughs,mocks, uses his mouth to tease and torment, to bite and rip at flesh, to drain him dry, and then fills him back up, thrusting into him again and again.

“I'm actually grateful for this, Commander. Would you believe the Elders never let me have any fun with my prey? It's all capture this and dispose of this and would you stop playing with that thing and put it out of his misery? It gets old.”

The Assassin scratches and slices, gives him cool sympathy and respect in her eyes, but hurts him each and every time.”You have to learn,” she says. “Your strength has its limits. And I will find them.

He can't even look at her, his eyes losing focus as the room spins. He could be shaking from pain or pleasure.

He could be dying. 

It's the happiest thought he's had for some time.

“I think we'll have to put you back again.”

She puts her hand to his cheek, and he unconsciously leans into it. She smiles.

“And then, I think you're ready to meet a friend of ours.”

* * *

There's two of them watching him now.

His body feels detached, like he's nothing but a loose pile of meat and flesh, but if he looks down, he can still see all four limbs.

There's pain everywhere, from his skin to his bones, and he wants to come so badly, but they won't let him until he gives in, tells them he's theirs.

He's not theirs. He'll never be theirs.

But the Machine doesn't care about that. It shakes him and fills him and he's not moving his body, it is, wires that reach into his body and spark inside his flesh. Sometimes it hurts until he wants to black out, let himself go away from the pain.

And that's when they stop hurting, and he feels it, a tug on his cock or something else that reaches deep inside him and he shakes because it won't let him come, won't let him do anything but feel the pleasure over and over and--

XCOM. He thinks. You have to come back to them.

Bradford.

He's waiting for you.

There's another pinch. He waits for the nausea, the dizziness, but it doesn't happen. Instead, it's a brief swimming before it's snuffed out, a burning pain replacing it instead. 

The Machine picks up speed, jolting him back and forth.

The wires in his body burning through his veins. 

“Who's your master?”

No.

Pain gets worse in his head. Burning, something pushing though it. 

“Who do you belong to?”

please. no stop whatever you're doing what are you doing.

“Who do you--”

no i don't need this i don't

_Commander._

“You.”

And he comes.

* * *

“He obviously meant me, dear sister. Looked right at me.”

“As always, taking credit for plans that aren't your own.”

“And if we were you, we'd be running away and hiding.”

“Better than taking pot shots from afar.”

The voices are arguing, angry but it doesn't matter. Nothing does but the light.

The light that lives under his skin, purple and swirling. It's like his body is a lantern and there's a candle burning it, lighting up his body so that it feels like it will burn from within.

Soon the glass will break and everything will be fire.

_I've found you._

_How_? He knows he no longer has a voice. The Warlock will hear him all the same.

_They're not subtle. I trust my siblings are otherwise occupied with their petty squabbles. They could never work together. None of us can. We're not designed that way._

_Have you come to_

Can't finish the thought, but the Warlock hears it anyway.

_I am far above matters of the flesh. It is what makes me superior to them. They may seek mastery of your physical form, try to break it and mold it to their purposes but we both know that's not why the Elders chose you. Chose me._

_Chosen._

_Yes, Commander. You are chosen just like we were. Ah, if you were one of us, a brother at my side. Perhaps we would actually work together. Be a family. _

_No._

There is an image, fleeting of a hand reaching out to him, and he shakes his head. His family is not here, but out there, searching for him. Trying to bring him home.

_This is not something that can be avoided. It is your destiny to be at our side. To serve the Elders, to bring this world to the greatness that we know it is capable of._

If he could, he would laugh. It's funny how they all use different words, but in the end, they all want the same thing. A tamed Commander, to present as a prize.

_So what? You've come to take me from them and claim your reward?_

_Tell me: who would get the credit for your capture, Commander? Would they blame my siblings for not turning you over immediately and reward me for my loyalty? Or would they see my failing in not finding you when my siblings could? Would we all be punished for our sins – they for disloyalty and me for ignorance?_

_I didn't—I don't—I don't know. _

There's something in his mind now, the light moving through perhaps. Where it touches, there's a spark, something twitching to life. Things that fell to sleep or had never been awake, suddenly alert. 

_My brother and sister think in the short term. Fleeting pleasures, instant gratification._

_What are you—what is this?_

His mind is a storm, gray clouds blurring his vision, only to see lightning flashing and illuminating strange things. He should be scared by them, but there's a road ahead of him, one that is familiar and comforting though he has never walked it, and the destination fills him with odd joy. 

_In the beginning, Commander, I had wondered why you? Yes, you were a brilliant strategist, able to lead our troops to victory, however unknowingly you did so, and yet, you were human. Not easily replaceable, but we have managed without you and we can do so again._

_Then do so. Leave me alone or kill me. _

He doesn't believe these words. The Commander may have, but the man that is filled with light is not him. He is not even a man.

He is a

God. That is the word you are looking for. I have seen in your mind, truly, as it lay open to me, undone by my siblings, and where they see it breaking and fracturing, I see something else. Something glorious and befitting of a true child of the gods, who will one day ascend to sit at their sides. The Elders will not punish my disobedience when they see what I have given them. So you will return you to your people, but know this: we are not finished.

You will return to the Elders not because we have captured you or because you have come with your servants to bring us down. You will return because you will know that it is time and I will wait for you.

Gods need faith.

You have mine.

There is one last fracturing, the world splintering around him. The light inside and outside of him, cradles him in his embrace, and he is warm and at peace. If he could share this with Bradford, show him how much he loves him and how much he wants him to see the same beauty.

This is why they were so wrong in the beginning. They took him away from those he loved and those that loved him, made him alone and made everyone try to find him, to bring him together. It won't happen this time.

This time, he will be with everyone he loves in the light, to make it so no one gets hurt anymore. He'll bring them in one by one, and show them, and they'll see.

There is light and wind and stars in a dark void, but soon it will be replaced by the humming of engines, the creaking of metal, the sound of people laughing and crying and calling his name.

He is going home to his family.

But they will all return.


End file.
